


Downfall

by havenotlove



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Abominations (Dragon Age), Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havenotlove/pseuds/havenotlove
Summary: Orion Mahariel has fallen fighting the Archdemon, and now Laven Surana is left to cope with the loss—and with the guilt of knowing it was a sacrifice made for his own sake.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nedsseveredhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nedsseveredhead/gifts).



For the first few nights, Zevran wakes to Laven's shuddering breath and tensing shoulders. He gently rouses Laven from fitful sleep, pulls him into his arms, and strokes soothing fingers through his hair. For the first few nights, they believe that all is well.

But as the pattern persists for days and weeks, the crease between Zevran's brows deepens each night, and Laven sees the unspoken concern waxing in his eyes.

Now that the Blight has ended, his nightmares should have become less frequent; instead, they have grown regular, predictable. He dreams of easy laughter and fleeting, roguish grins. Witty retorts and poorly-timed jokes. Hot breath on his neck and impatient groans in his ear. A melodic and comforting language that he cannot understand.

_I think I win._

He learns to sleep lightly, to wake quietly so that he will not disturb his bed mate. In the mornings, Zevran brushes his hair aside and places a kiss to his forehead. He smiles tenderly and says he is relieved to see him doing so much better now.

"He will be remembered as a hero," Alistair writes, and Laven realizes that he cannot remember the funeral well. Realizes that what he remembers, instead, is the pressure of Zevran's hand around his own, the only thing anchoring him as he stared at Orion's empty body.

What happens, he wonders, to the Dalish when they die? Do they go somewhere else? What about the elves who never knew their gods? Will they join them again one day?

Often, his mind returns to that moment, to the steady resolve in Orion's gaze and the stalwart setting of his shoulders as he drove his sword up to its hilt. The hesitant waver as the strength drained from his body and slowly he fell back onto the stone.

They had been together on the night before their final battle. Laven had lain within Orion's arms, gasping and spent and satisfied. He'd hummed his appreciation, snaked his fingers through Orion's sweat-damp hair, placed lazy kisses along his collar bone—but he'd said nothing about the tension he still felt in Orion's body, said nothing about his uncharacteristic silence.

Even in the day, Laven feels clawing—hears a calling—at the back of his mind, simultaneously repulsive and alluring.

_Laven. Ma vhenan. Do you still want me?_

He sits quietly upon the precipice of his downfall, forlorn whispers ghosting over him like breath. His fingers thread restlessly through his hair, weaving and unweaving, weaving and unweaving.

And one day, he can no longer take it.

"Yes," he answers. "I still want you. I still need you."

Gentle fingers lift Laven's chin, and when he looks up, at last— _at last_ —he finds more than fleeting, flickering images. He looks up at Orion in desperate supplication and feels grateful tears slipping down his cheeks. He'd almost forgotten the subtle curve ever at his lips, the playful challenge so often in his eyes, and for the remembrance he is grateful, so grateful.

Laven clutches tightly at the straps of Orion's armor, pleads with him to stay, confesses that he has not been alright—not since Orion went away. Through broken sobs, he repents for what he left undone, admits to the hurt and guilt thrashing violently within him.

And in Orion's touch, he finds absolution.

_"So what are you going to do when all of this is over?"_

_"What, the Blight?" Orion snorts at the question, as though surprised anyone would have to ask. "I'm going home, obviously." The words fall from his tongue so readily, so easily, and Laven wonders how it can really be that simple. "Why? What about you?"_

_Laven shrugs noncommittally, looks away with practiced disinterest. "Eh. I don't know. Sleep for a few weeks, probably."_

_Orion's laughter cuts momentarily through the doubt, makes Laven feel less alone. He bites back a smile as Orion playfully shoves his arm, and he nudges back with his shoulder._

_"Come on, Laven, seriously. After your nap, then. No big plans?"_

_"Why so curious?" Laven teases. "Are you really going to miss me that much?"_

_The resulting silence lingers a moment too long, and Laven looks quickly away. Its meaning is clear._

He tastes smoke in Orion's mouth, fire on his tongue. His kisses burn, scorching hot against Laven's lips and skin, but he feels he deserves the blisters left in their wake.

"I should have told you," Laven breathes. "I'm sorry I never told you."

"It's alright, Laven." Orion murmurs the words against Laven's throat, and they reverberate through his body, drowning out his thoughts, devouring his hesitation. "I'm here now, Laven. I'm not going anywhere."

All-consuming, all-embracing, his voice is both a comfort and a terror.

_As Laven stares up at the stars above them, he realizes that this is all he's ever sought. Liberation. Freedom. Choice. Is he supposed to know already what comes next?_

_"I haven't given it much thought," Laven says airily, hoping he sounds unconcerned. "All I know is that I'm never going back to that Maker-forsaken Circle, so I... guess I don't really have anywhere to go."_

_Even without looking, he can feel Orion's gaze on him. Watchful, worried. Suddenly, the air between them feels heavy, and Laven regrets bringing the subject up._

_"Listen, Laven," Orion says slowly. "I know what I said before about flat ears and all that, but—" He pauses uncertainly. Starts again. "Look, I know I can be an ass sometimes, but if you need a place to stay, you'd probably be welcome in my clan."_

_Laven rolls his head to the side, gives Orion a dubious smirk. "What, just... follow you back home? Go live with you among the Dalish?"_

_"Yeah. Why not?" Orion's voice betrays his diffidence, an honesty he's not accustomed to. "I mean, if you have nothing else to do anyway, you could always just... I don't know, go where I go."_

Familiar hands twine through Laven's hair, tender and comforting, and he trembles at the touch. He knows this isn't true. Knows that Orion has long been gone and isn't coming back.

But he is tired. Tired of aching, tired of yearning—tired of seeing him in his sleep then waking to find nothing, of breaking apart each morning all over again.

And so he surrenders.

Laven's hair is pulled taut, his neck twisted painfully back. He lets out a cry as Orion's nails rake over his body, sharp and unforgiving—shudders as Orion's mouth roams over his skin, eager and possessive. Every touch burns right through him, weakening his hold, pushing him out, leaving nothing but smoldering ashes. His consciousness slips swiftly through his fingertips, the thoughts flooding his mind no longer his own.

But he succumbs to the fire, breathes in the flames, and as he feels the last parts of himself begin to fall away—he smiles, knowing that now, at last, he is going where Orion's gone.


End file.
